Former evangelist-turned-atheist to speak April 9 at UU Church

WORCESTER — Some of Jerry DeWitt's earliest memories are of church services he was taken to by his mother and stepfather as a child in Louisiana.

In a way, you might say, church and preaching were in his genes as well as something ever-present in his environment.

"My family was religious from its conception," he said. "My maternal grandmother and grandfather actually met at a church here in our town. My grandmother's mom and dad actually moved from Mississippi following an evangelist."

With all that religion, it was probably inevitable that Mr. DeWitt would become a preacher himself.

But what few would have been likely to predict was that Mr. DeWitt would someday become an atheist.

Mr. DeWitt's story makes dramatic telling: How he was saved at 17 during a camp meeting at Jimmy Swaggart's church in Louisiana before the scandals that rocked the foundations of that church. How he became a preacher himself in a particularly regimented Pentecostal group.

That group had a strict view of men's and women's dress (no facial hair for men, long skirts and long hair for women), and of what was appropriate (no TV, no modern music, no sports).

"They resisted the idea of higher education," he said. "So there was no seminary. If you could get into the pulpit and hold your own, you could preach."

When he was 20, Mr. DeWitt was married. By 22, he was out in the field as an evangelist, traveling and preaching all across the South.

He later became part of the charismatic movement and, still later, part of what he believed to be a liberal Christian church.

But Mr. DeWitt's career didn't go as many might have expected, though all along, he says, there were decisions to be made on one's, for lack of a better term, spiritual path.

Some of those decisions even within Christianity, he recalled, weren't really recognized by those around him as legitimate, either.

"This final step to some people appears to be a drastic turn," he said.

To Mr. DeWitt, becoming an atheist is just part of the continued learning and growth along that path.

"In a way I studied my way out of my tradition," he said.

The doctrine of eternal punishment was among the first that he began to question. Others followed, and along with releasing those beliefs, he also released superstitions.

"It was a long grueling process of deconstructing one tradition after another," Mr. DeWitt said.

"I've accepted whatever truths were presented to me all along the way," he said. "I've always loved humans and I've always loved truth, and I feel that those two rails have brought me to this destination."

As he let go of those Christian traditions, he also let go of pieces of his work, a difficult process since it was the only life he knew.

He did so quietly, without making a public announcement of his questioning and the change in his beliefs.

But when he met other secular humanists who wanted to make contact with him on Facebook and then changed his Facebook page to reflect his beliefs, the word began to filter outward. He realized he had to let go of some of his work, let go of that old identity entirely, to "commit identity suicide."

Some prayed for him, others rejected him. He lost jobs, almost lost his home.

Those material things are only a part of the high price he had to pay for that journey. From a family steeped in Christianity, Mr. DeWitt's confirmation of his atheism must have come as a shock, followed just as quickly by rejection, in some cases, from friends, community and family.

"The majority of my immediate family has tried to find a way to stay close to me," he said.

But it's a different kind of closeness, one that depends on not discussing the "elephant in the room" and on keeping the conversation superficial.

To much of his extended family, those he doesn't see very often, it's as if he never existed, he said.

"They've written me off entirely," he said.

There are four friends, he said, who have "made it over the hump" with him.

In the small city of DeRidder, La., where everyone knows everyone — and where they certainly all know the preacher — Mr. DeWitt is now a bit of an outcast to some.

The varying degrees of acceptance that are evident in his extended family are reflected in his hometown as well, where some accept what they view as a radical change, and some do not and have let the relationship go.

The isolation, he admits, has been difficult for his family. His relationship with his wife of 20 years is in transition. He admits he doesn't know how that will turn out. His voice is understanding when he speaks of how difficult he knows the ostracism must have been for his family.

And for him.

But like many in difficult circumstances, Mr. DeWitt has found a way of turning the burden of rejection into a mission, and one that requires skills he's honed in more than 20 years as a preacher and minister. As an atheist, he is ministering to other Christian ministers who have become atheists.

"I think that's what any human does," he said. "If you were to suffer a far greater tragedy than I've suffered, say the loss of a loved one, it's natural to then be motivated to minister and show love to people who have gone through what you have been going through. Empathy propels you to help lessen human suffering."

Mr. DeWitt is the first "graduate" of the Clergy Project, a program begun in 2011 with just a few more than 50 members that now has more than 400, a kind of safe house for clergy who no longer believe what they've been preaching from the pulpit for years.

That change, as Mr. DeWitt and others know, can mean such a radical change in one's life that the support of others is crucial. And who better to support those making such a transition than those who have been through it themselves?

The Clergy Project is supported by numerous humanist organizations and has recently established a fund to help former clergy transition into different careers.

Mr. DeWitt has a new career as a writer and speaker. He was written the story of his career and its changes, "Hope After Faith," which is due out this summer.

Mr. DeWitt will speak at 7 p.m. April 9 at the Unitarian Universalist Church, Holden Street and Shore Drive, in a program sponsored by the Greater Worcester Humanists. Admission is $5 for nonmembers.

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